Chasm
by mysweetone
Summary: Canon/AU. Post-Season 4. The Downton servants discover a body on the grounds of the estate, which leads to a series of decisions meant to heal and redeem. This short story involves the majority of the cast, but focus is primarily on a resolution for Edith.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: There are a number of ideas floating around in my brain—can't seem to stop them. This is a small story that may be just a few chapters or so and involves more Downton characters than I usually incorporate. Hope you enjoy. Please do let me know what you think…_

* * *

"What's that?"

"What?"

Alfred took a great stride forward and suddenly froze; he squinted to see across the grass and hedge near the back of the estate. "Oh my God—it's a body! Get Mr. Carson…now!"

Jimmy hesitated for a moment, too stunned to move, but then turned and ran back inside to the kitchen. "Mr. Carson! Mrs. Hughes!"

The older woman emerged from Mr. Carson's pantry with the butler moving with purpose to keep up with her and meet Jimmy.

"What is it, James?" Carson's baritone demanded.

"Mr. Carson—there's a—" Jimmy gulped—for air and the right words.

"Yes, yes, James. Take a moment, dear. I'm sure it's nothing to be so excite—"

"A body! By the gardens outside," Jimmy stammered.

Carson and Hughes exchanged surprised-but-sober looks before hurrying out the door, with Carson's lengthy pace outdoing the head housekeeper's.

When the two met Alfred, and Jimmy arrived close behind, all four stared at the body lying face-down, soaked already from the dew and moisture in the air of the early morning. Carson's brow knitted in disgust that such a discovery should interrupt the smooth workings, manicured lawns, and finery of the estate; Mrs. Hughes eyed the body with concern, a slightly open mouth as she looked from the body to Mr. Carson and back again.

"Have you done anything—touched it at all, I mean?" Carson turned to Alfred.

"No, Mr. Carson." The footmen shook their heads in unison.

"So, we're standing here over a man who might be alive and need help? What are we waiting for exactly?" Mrs. Hughes immediately lifted her skirt and bent close to the ground to touch him.

"Mrs. Hughes, please—you mustn't—let me help you." Carson stopped her, knew she would need a hand to completely turn the body and so grasped the shoulder of the body and heaved him, as gently as he could manage, onto his side and then his back.

"Mother Mary in Heaven," Mrs. Hughes whispered and covered her mouth with her hand.

Carson still knelt on the ground. "He's breathing—barely." He glanced to Mrs. Hughes, uncertain as to how to proceed.

"Is he drunk?"

The butler leaned—reluctantly and with a scowl—to inhale any odors near the face. He shook his head.

"Well, for God's sake, let's get him inside then and call Dr. Clarkson." The ever-practical lady nodded to Alfred and Jimmy and then offered Mr. Carson a caring hand for balance, though he frowned and waved her off as he rose slowly from the chill grass.

Alfred and Jimmy went to work then, bending and scooping the gentleman from the grounds of Downton and carrying the unconscious body to the nearest vacant room in the downstairs. Once inside, Carson touched her elbow.

"I'll notify his lordship as well when I call Dr. Clarkson."

"Yes, he'll most certainly want to know."

"What's—what's he even doing here like this—in this manner? I don't understand."

"I haven't any idea, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said, shaking her head. "It's been more than two years since I've given him a thought." She raised her eyebrow pointedly.

Carson agreed with a cock of his own brow, then turned on his heel and approached the stairs.

* * *

"Anthony Strallan?"

"Yes, milord."

"Unconscious?"

Carson nodded.

"And with no sign of alcohol or anything? Perhaps he's ill?"

"That's what it appears to be, milord."

"You've called for Clarkson?"

"Yes, milord."

Robert Crawley could only shake his head in utter disbelief. Cora watched her husband, thought of her middle daughter, and then stood from the plush chair.

"I'm going to see him," she announced.

"See him?" Robert challenged. "What on earth for?"

Cora smiled. "Robert, he's probably unwell—something's happened for him to end up here. I'm only going to see about him and find out." She proceeded to the door of the library, and then called behind her, "You're welcome to come to; I know you want to know."

With that, Robert lifted his chin in slight defiance, a hint of stubbornness in his eyes, and glanced at Carson. "She's always right, Carson."

"Yes, milord."

* * *

Jimmy and Alfred eased Strallan onto the bed. Mrs. Hughes assured them all would be fine and, as they walked out, instructed them to direct Dr. Clarkson to this room when he arrived. Anna, summoned within moments after finding the body, managed to help Mrs. Hughes free Sir Anthony Strallan from the saturated overcoat and the boots. By this time, the two women had to chase the other now-gawking-and-curious servants from the hall and shut the door, both fearful of the removal of the now-shivering man's shirt.

"Well, he won't get dry and warm if we just stare at him," Mrs. Hughes declared.

They looked at one another for a long second, took a synchronized breath, and quickly removed the shirt—both taken aback at the sight.

"In here, milord," Carson directed Robert and Cora to the small, vacant servant's quarters.

Anna and Mrs. Hughes lifted their patient's legs and looked up to see the lady and lord of the house staring in shock at the lifeless body and the visible scars along Anthony's shoulder, arm, and chest. Quickly, the two women covered the gentleman with a duvet taken from a nearby wardrobe and Anna took a towel to dry his hair and wipe the earthy residue from his face.

Cora gasped when she saw Anthony and registered his shallow breaths and ghostly pale skin. "You said—Mr. Carson—you said that Dr. Clarkson's on his way?"

Carson nodded.

"Good God." Robert stood in a trance just behind Cora's right shoulder, both gaping at the mess of a man before them. "Has he awakened at all? Or said anything? Do we know even what he's doing here?"

"No, milord," Carson acknowledged. "I can call Locksley and have Stewart—"

"Yes, immediately. Do that, please, Carson."

"Right away, milord."

Cora took her husband's arm, thoughts spinning as she remembered the last time she'd seen Anthony walking away from her daughter at the church and what she was registering now—Edith, pregnant and far away…and Anthony Strallan, unconscious and ill here at their home… "Robert?"

Robert could only stare, open-mouthed, until his wife tugged at his elbow. "Ye-yes, darling?"

"He knows."

Robert turned to Cora, tilted his head in bewilderment. "What? What do you mean—knows what?"

"I don't know how, but he knows about Edith." Cora's eyes remained fixated on Anthony's sleeping figure.

"I'm sorry, Cora, I'm not following you in the slightest."

"Edith's recently disappeared, so to speak—in these terrible circumstances, which I'm sure has given credence to a number of rumors in London—Anthony shows up here in this dreadful condition after no one has heard from or seen him in over two years…he knows about her, Robert. Something's happened and he knows…"


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: So...it's snowing, I'm sick, and, despite the cold medicine haze, am attempting to finish some of the chapters that have been in progress (or in my imagination) for quite some time because a strange fit of passion has overwhelmed my good sense and I find myself typing on my laptop rather than completely resting-writing and feeling unwell is better than resting and thinking relentlessly about how ill one feels, so this is much more fun! I do hope you enjoy and I appreciate very much the follows and reviews! (I blame any errors on the cold meds and offer my apologies.)_

* * *

Robert took a moment to process his wife's words and looked to the bed to see Anthony still trembling beneath the cover, whispers from his lips incoherent. "What does it mean?" Observing his wife's eyes, the proverbial wheels in her head turning at lightning speed, Robert backed from her for a moment. "You can't mean—you're not insinuating that Edith's solution is to marry this…this man who is an absolute mess, Cora? He's clearly not well, may not even survive this—whatever this illness is—and… You're not serious?"

Instead of receiving a typical easy smile to smooth over a disagreement or relax tension, Robert saw in his wife the steel countenance he'd come to love—when it agreed with him—but loathed when it didn't.

"You're quite serious, aren't you?"

"She loved him, Robert."

"Loved. Past tense, darling. I'm most certain that his walking out on her and humiliating her practically annihilated any feelings Edith had for him and, if it didn't, Michael Gregson—for whatever he's worth—became the man she wanted. No, absolutely not. He's going to be seen by Clarkson and he will be out of our home and lives once more."

"Michael's disappeared…she's alone and pregnant, Robert," Cora persisted, tilted her head knowingly to Anthony and leveled her gaze at her husband. "And he's here because—somehow—he knows that…"

* * *

When Stewart arrived from Locksley with a bag for Anthony, instead of being taken directly to Anthony, he was ushered into the library where Robert waited and offered him a chair opposite him in front of the fire.

"Stewart, what has happened to him?"

Stewart, already aware of what Carson told him and all too familiar with the symptoms described, answered cryptically, "I can't speak for him, Lord Grantham—"

"Stewart, please, I only wish to inquire as to his health—this isn't normal for the man I've known for so many years—"

Stewart considered the words and his own tactful, loyal reply. "The war and all that happened after…affected him greatly."

"Yes, but—this—condition he's in right now—"

"The first time was immediately after his return from hospital in 1918—there were many others after that. The worst was…May, 1920. I would be remiss by saying anything more, Lord Grantham."

Robert gave in and offered a sympathetic frown. "I see. Perhaps I can talk to him when he wakes."

Stewart's tone and expression were grave. "Honestly, Lord Grantham, I'm not certain he can even put it into words, though I'm certain he'll try if you ask. I only beg you to be patient in awaiting your answers."

Robert watched as Stewart walked out, presumably to join the servants near the room where Anthony lay, and he was left alone to ponder the words Stewart had spoken…

* * *

Dr. Clarkson dismissed everyone when he arrived to examine Anthony. Alone with his patient, he lifted the covers and studied the unconscious form in front of him, looking for any signs of injury, though he doubted any existed. The injuries, apart from the obvious dead arm, he knew, resided in Anthony's fractured mind—the disconnections he experienced ever since returning from the war.

"Sir Anthony, can you hear me? Major?" The doctor whispered as he opened each eye and assessed for any fever or illness.

Out of respect, Clarkson called Mrs. Hughes in first and asked for a clean shirt. "I don't want him waking and realizing others have seen the scars—he'll be upset enough that he's here and has alarmed everyone, I can promise you."

"Of course, Doctor. Is he…all right though, otherwise?"

"There's no physical injury or illness, Mrs. Hughes, nothing one can see and treat," Dr. Clarkson said. The tone and inflection told Mrs. Hughes all she needed to know regarding the gentleman and she led the doctor out of the room. "I need to speak with Lord Grantham before I go, please."

* * *

Robert sat across from Clarkson in the library, listening intently. Direct and knowledgeable, Clarkson kept his comments to a minimum; Robert, however, tried for more information.

"I spoke with Stewart, Anthony's valet, and he indicated this has happened previously, but gave no details—"

"Lord Grantham, please, I cannot give you confidential information as to the man's medical history—particularly issues from his service."

Robert huffed. "Dr. Clarkson, I've known Anthony for decades and never—_never_—have I seen this sort of thing. Is he—"

"All I will say is that there are some illnesses that are not physical, not even mental exactly, that leave one out of the reach, so to speak, of treatment. If you wish for more details, you will have to ask Sir Anthony himself to explain." Clarkson rose then and began to walk to the door before turning back. "He's fine though, in terms of being able to leave here. He need not stay in bed once he wakes, I mean. Good day, Lord Grantham."

* * *

Anna and Mrs. Hughes managed to cover Anthony with a shirt and wrap him once more in the warmth of the bedclothes. Anna stayed with him, heard the random syllables he uttered in the midst of dreams, saw the pained expression even in his sleep, and watched over him for any signs of…something. Once or twice, though faint, Anna knew she made out in his soft words the name she thought she might hear… When she heard the tender lament, his heartache voiced, Anna couldn't help but feel her heart break a bit for him—and it shattered all over again for Edith.

After more than an hour, Anthony's breathing increased, became erratic in the stillness, and his eyes finally opened slowly. Anna shifted in the chair beside the bed. "Sir Anthony?"

At the sound of his name, Anthony's head turned, lifted from the pillow, and he looked at Anna and around the room, then at the strange shirt and bed he lay in, a look of uncertainty and fright in his eyes. He blinked several times as though to clear away a mental fog.

"You're at Downton, Sir," Anna offered, gently.

With those words, nausea swept through him and he had to lay his head back on the pillow. He winced as though in pain. "I'm so sorry—I meant no harm—just—"

Anna stood and leaned over him, wiped his forehead with the towel where he'd broken out in a cold sweat. "It's all right, Sir. Dr. Clarkson says you'll be fine and Stewart—"

"Yes, where is Stewart?"

"I'll get him." Anna disappeared outside the door and within a moment, Stewart came in and shut the door behind him.

"Right here, Sir."

Anthony turned to see his trusted valet, pale with worry, and Anthony shuddered with shame at his current predicament. "How did I get here—what happened?"

Stewart sat beside Anthony on the bed and helped him sit up against the pillow. "The post, I think, Sir. The one you received yesterday had some sort of news regarding Lady Edith…?"

Anthony ran a hand through his hair. When the memory dawned, he gasped. "That's the last thing I can recall—"

A knock at the door and both men started.

Stewart stood and opened it slightly. Robert Crawley peered inside. "May I come in?"

Anthony nodded, but couldn't make eye contact and merely stared down at the dark red duvet.

"I need to speak with you," Robert began. He looked to Stewart and back at Anthony. "After you've had a chance to dress and all. It's quite important."

"Of course, Lord Grantham," Anthony said. "My sincere apologies for all of this—"

"Anthony, please, we'll talk," Robert said, holding up his hand and shaking his head. "I'll be in the library." Stewart shut the door behind the Crawley patriarch and turned to Anthony.

"Are you all right, Sir?"

"I need to leave as soon as possible; I'm ashamed even to be here, given what I did—and now, what I have done," Anthony said, tossing the cover away from him and starting to stand. Stewart took his good arm and realized Anthony was shaking. "Hurry, please, Stewart. Let's be done here."

Stewart retrieved the bag he'd brought with him, helped Anthony dress.

* * *

Cora stopped Anna in the corridor. "Sir Anthony's awake?"

"Yes, milady."

"How is he feeling?"

Anna frowned. "I think he's all right, milady, but he didn't…sleep well."

Cora saw the hesitation, the way Anna carefully chose her words. "What do you mean?"

"Milady, he…I fear it's not my place to—"

"Anna, please tell me. You know the history between them, what all has happened—did Anthony say something? Suffer a nightmare of some kind?"

"Milady, I couldn't quite make out what all he said as he slept, but…I certainly know whose name he said—repeatedly."

Cora's eyes widened as she listened, her conviction growing.

"He was deeply troubled, milady."

Cora's gaze went past Anna then as she calculated the meaning and whispered, "He's loved her all along…"

* * *

"Robert?"

"Yes, darling?" Robert peered up at her from his desk in the library.

"I've just spoken with Anna," Cora explained. "She stayed with Anthony until Stewart arrived and she mentioned that he was quite troubled—that in his sleep he kept saying Edith's name."

"I see. Well, I certainly won't let on that I know that—the man's allowed a bit of discretion, but I did let him know that I wished to speak with him here when he finished dressing."

Cora smiled and kissed her husband. "I'll let you handle it from here then."

"I can't guarantee anything will come from this, Cora—"

"I know that, Robert, but we have to try. Edith's desperate and, I believe, Anthony loves her—has always loved her—and that he will help her—"

"If she allows him to—and that's a big 'if,' you understand?"

"Yes," Cora agreed. "I also know how much she loved him—not once, but twice. Perhaps she can find it in her heart to forgive him? If nothing else, becoming a mother just might influence her decision more than we think…"

* * *

"You don't remember anything?"

Anthony shook his head weakly and hung it in defeat. "These…episodes, if you will, have happened before. If not for Stewart, I'd have…killed myself long ago." Though he was certain Robert took it as exaggeration, Anthony knew the sober truth of those words—the attempts he'd already made purposefully and the number of these episodes that had occurred at Locksley since his return from hospital in 1918.

"I never would've guessed, Anthony. I certainly never saw anything that would indicate you were…vulnerable—"

Anthony almost smiled—a half-hearted and anguished look. "That's because when I was here I was…" He searched for the word—happy? Grounded? _Alive_? "I was with her."

Robert considered his words, measured the man sitting across from him. "What's the last thing you can recall?"

Anthony blinked. His eyes narrowed then as he thought and recalled what Stewart shared with him earlier. "It was…a post. Yes, a post from a friend in London regarding…Lady Edith…"

"Then you're aware of the serious nature of her situation?"

"I was uncertain as to how much to believe, given the conjecture and hearsay involved—the mysterious nature of this Michael Gregson's situation and…Lady Edith's circumstance, which I can't believe for a moment is true."

Robert took a deep breath. "It is. I'm afraid it is true. Edith is pregnant."

Anthony looked to the furthest corner of the large library, forced himself to begin breathing again.

Robert moved forward with painstaking care. "Anthony, she loved you once—"

"And will never again after such a scene as I created," Anthony scoffed. "The hurt and embarrassment—no-humiliation! She will never forgive me, much less agree to—"

"She's going to lose everything if she doesn't!"

"What?"

"The baby to a secret adoption, her title, perhaps—or she'll have to begin all over again here or outside of this country in a state of shame with no husband and only a child—"

"Lord Grantham, you're forgetting that she has to _accept _me again and I'm telling you she's far too independent and…intelligent and proud and brave to do such a thing as to—"

"Anthony, will you not at least try? For _her _sake! She needs you; I daresay you're her last hope, if she intends to keep the child rather than give it up. She's due to give birth in a matter of months and no one will possibly—"

Anthony held up his hand in surrender. "Lord Grantham, she doesn't _need _me and is certainly capable of choosing a life for herself. Please—"

Robert saw the argument being lost and wielded his final card. "I know you love her—that you always have, that you left her _because _you cared so much for her. But I beg you to consider the life of love you can offer her versus…the alternative. Anthony, please?"

"I don't think she will; I think she has clearly moved on and will not appreciate my interference, but if you wish for me to…contact her…then, of course, I will."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing; it is very much appreciated._

* * *

"So you think he will go through with it and write to her?" Cora asked as she and Robert sat down for luncheon.

"I do—if he has it in him after all this time. He seems still…so weak."

"It's not weakness." Cora shook her head. "It's self-loathing, remorse...those in combination with the strength of love he has for Edith—well, it's unpredictable, but I do hope he is able to resolve it within himself and realize he can bring her happiness."

"Can he?" Robert remarked pointedly. "I do hope you're right, darling, because I certainly don't want this shock to bring complications for Edith in this situation—a pregnancy is dangerous enough without such strong emotions affecting her health…"

"He's not doing this to harm her, Robert."

"I know he would never do so intentionally and we certainly didn't suggest such in our talk this morning, but…I fear both of them might be unprepared for the sort of jolt they may experience if they were to communicate again, much less see one another after what he did and all that's happened since…"

* * *

Anthony sat in his library attempting to pen a letter to Lady Edith Crawley—a persuasive, polite invitation to simply talk. The words failed him and several leaves of paper ended up crushed, thrown promptly in the fire, which he couldn't help but be hypnotized by as he let the memories drift back to him; he'd had no trouble with words once...

_"Thank you for your letters while you were away…"_

_Anthony grinned for a moment and then felt Edith's lips at his cheek, solidifying her gratitude. "Just a few lines I couldn't get out of my head. It's nothing, really."_

_Edith took a seat on the sofa in the library and Anthony sat beside her. She wasted no time in taking his hand. "They're not 'nothing' to me—I adore them. You have a way with words when you write—"_

_"Only because you inspire me," Anthony admitted. "I'm hopeless otherwise, I assure you." Edith turned to him, appeased him with a smile at his self-deprecating humor, and brushed her leg against his trousers, nestling closer. "You're all I think of lately, my sweet one." _

_"Nineteen days…" _

_"You're counting down?" _

_"Of course! Aren't you?" Edith leaned closer, her other hand straightening his collar and smoothing his tie, warming him through with her touch._

_"Yes, my love, by the day, and, soon enough, the hours," he confessed. Then, with growing confidence in the intimate moments alone with her—the sense he felt that she might love him, too, despite his fears and shame and haunting insecurities, given the way they were together— Anthony leaned and kissed her. The need to feel one another, to taste, overwhelmed them both and he gently teased, his tongue lightly touching her bottom lip until she eagerly parted her lips for him… _

_"I love you, Anthony…" she'd breathed against his lips, her hands at his cheek and neck, her warmth surrounding him as they embraced._

Stewart, observing from the library entrance, sensing his master's frustration, entered the room. "May I get you anything, Sir?"

"There's no use in doing this, Stewart. There are no words—none! She's never going to reply if I send a letter or telegram, nor should she given my abhorrent behavior…" Anthony paced by the hearth, his nerves obvious with the absent rubbing of his brow.

"Perhaps the only solution then, Sir, is to go to where she is?"

Anthony stopped. He stared at Stewart's earnest eyes and, after a long moment, nodded. "It's the only way…"

* * *

At Anthony's request, Robert sent a telegram to Edith informing her that Anthony Strallan requested to meet with her.

Edith Crawley lay in bed with her back against the pillows and a pad of paper beside her, a hand on her growing belly, and a pen in the other hand as she wrote another letter, she hoped not in vain, to the last known address of Michael Gregson. The days passed with no word from Michael, only occasional walks outside, books and writing inside with occasional card games played with her aunt—a pervasive sadness and oppressive mood about the rooms.

When Robert's telegram was received later that afternoon, however, Rosamund read it and shared it with Edith with more than a hint of cynicism between the two women.

"He won't have the nerve to show up here," Edith scoffed. "I can't believe Papa would even bother to believe him—why would he?"

"Perhaps he has heard—"

"Even if he has heard something, what does it matter? What's he going to do about it?" Edith tossed a pillow from behind her in disgust and then re-settled herself on the bed to rest. "Respond and tell Papa to please keep him from coming, that it is none of his business and I have no desire to see him—_none_. The only man I wish to see right now is Michael and no one's heard a word from him—when? When is he going to come for me?" Edith cried.

* * *

Robert received the cryptic telegram response from Rosamund and showed it to Cora.

"Are you going to tell Anthony?" Cora asked.

"No—if he has it in him to go there and see her, then…we'll see what comes of it. Besides, he's already left and trying to communicate with him in transit is near impossible."

Cora sighed.

"Don't you agree?"

"I suppose. She can always refuse to see him when he arrives."

"And well she might," Robert asserted. "Let's hope she doesn't…"

* * *

In three days' time, Anthony and Stewart were in Switzerland approaching the address given to them by Robert from his sister, Rosamund.

Stewart recognized Anthony's growing anxiety with each leg of the trip. The quiet gentleman had little appetite, had probably lost more weight he didn't have to lose just in the past days traveling; books and papers to read had been brought along, but left untouched; the fingers of his good hand twitched, curled around his coat buttons, adjusted his tie, the movement constant…sleep never came. Stewart stayed close by and Anthony sipped coffee or tea, tried to rest with his head back on the seat of the train, would close his eyes for moments at a time only to startle back into awareness and glance around to regain his bearings.

As they stepped out of the taxi car, Anthony let Stewart pay the driver and they took their valises and paused just outside the doors of the hotel.

"She's in there and I've no idea what to say to her—how to do this—"

Stewart looked to his slightly taller master. "What's the objective, Sir?" The military tone Stewart used caused Anthony to look at him, to evaluate the course of action he was about to take in a new light.

"I'm not sure, Stewart. At the very least, to help her—save her, if she'll allow me." His blue eyes glistened in the sharp sunlight as he thought for a long moment. "To make up for everything I've done, to love her, if miracles are still possible in this wretched world."

* * *

A knock sounded at the suite's door and Rosamund stood from her place in the sitting room.

"Edith?"

"Yes?"

"A message for you—" Rosamund handed her the slip of paper from the front desk's courier to her niece who rose slowly from the bed and stood.

Edith's eyes took in the scrawled words and, within moments, her lips curved into a smile. When she looked up, Rosamund was waiting impatiently for the news.

"Well?"

"He's here—Michael's downstairs!" Edith uttered the words in a state of disbelief and near-delirium, her heart's expectations clearly set.

"Michael? Are you sure? Edith! What does it say?" Rosamund called after her as Edith slipped on her shoes and followed Edith out the door to the hotel lift.

Edith pushed the paper into her aunt's hands, her hands patting and fluffing her hair simultaneously, nerves overtaking her.

"Edith, this says a gentleman-a visitor of some kind-is here to see you—"

Before Rosamund finished, the lift door opened and Edith hurried out and around the corner towards the grand lobby. When she didn't see Michael right away, she searched again, a full sweep of the foyer and lobby until she felt her aunt beside her.

"I don't see him," Edith murmured, shaking her head in confusion. "I don't understand—"

"I do." Rosamund's icy tone dismayed Edith, who looked at her for a stunned moment. Rosamund tilted her head and Edith followed her aunt's gaze across the room.

Anthony Strallan stood by the windows in his dark suit and tie and held his hat in his hand pacing until he saw Stewart's changed expression and, turning to see the two ladies, Anthony formally bowed his head in salutation. "Lady Edith. Lady Painswick," his humble, anguished whisper nearly inaudible to them mere meters from where he and Stewart stood.

"You're not—oh my God!—" Edith first gaped at the vision before her, but the intent look became a glare in moments and she felt Rosamund's hand take her elbow. "No, this can't be—not you!" She growled the words.

Anthony felt the syllables pierce him deeply, even as his eyes took in the sight of her expectant form revealed by the deep mauve dress.

Edith, too, looked from him to her own body. "No, no! Oh my God—"

"Shh—please." Rosamund gripped her niece's arm harder, tried to spur Edith's attention in order to prevent a scene. "Let's return upstairs, Edith, I can talk to him later," Rosamund suggested. "Let's go."

Anthony opened his mouth and closed it again when Rosamund's other hand snapped up as though to shield Edith from him entirely. Stewart watched the scene, tensing as he saw the grimace of pain on Anthony's face as she walked away from him and the sheer torture reflected on Edith's during the confrontation. Anthony saw it, felt it—the shame, hurt, and rage all at once, mixed with the utter confusion of seeing him there unexpectedly—and he wanted nothing more than to help and heal her, to console and clarify; seeing her, something inside him flared to life—

Anthony dashed to the closing gate of the lift. "Lady Edith!"

Through the black diamond voids of the closed gate, Edith's head snapped up to see Anthony's blue eyes boring into hers, the fingers of his hand clenching the metal as though to bring her closer, attempting to halt the lift before it ascended…

"Edith, please—"

Shocked at his actions—that he was pursuing her, reaching for her, Edith stood initially paralyzed inside, but before the elevator began its climb her eyes stayed locked with his and she appeared as though in a trance at the sound of his voice saying her name and her fingers brushed his at the metal barrier between them, her lips parted to speak and all he heard as the jolt of movement carried her away from him was the tender, broken cry of his name…


End file.
